


Two of Power

by Mistshift



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Dark Magic, M/M, Necromancy, Rituals, Runes, Wool's Orphanage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 19:50:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13910973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistshift/pseuds/Mistshift
Summary: In a cold gray orphanage two boys with a bond of brothers navigate a cold gray world. Until of course they enter a world more magical and realize their desire for revenge is truly a desire to conquer.Riddle's time au with some unique aspects.





	1. An introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I had posted this story once before, but it had been awhile since i had looked at it. My writing has changed since then so i am revamping it. Also sorry about any grammar or spelling issues I'm bad at self review.

There were two boys in Wool's Orphanage who were quite unlike the other children and quite unlike each other, despite what their appearance might suggest. With their dark hair and pale skin Tom Riddle and Haydn Peverell could have been brothers, but they weren't at least not in the conventional sense. Brothers in arms perhaps.  

Tom was the older and his eyes were a dark sort of dead. Smooth river stones, made to gleaming perfection beneath the crush of cold water. Even at two years old he was different. He never smiled or laughed and his angel face was a rippling reflection to his stone eye. He was a cherub statue, lovely and cold to the touch. But beneath his cool mantel he ran molten. And the truth was the boy's soul was fire, bright and beautiful, but dangerous and terribly quick to ignite. A force to level cities and decimate populations. Speedy desolation.  

Haydn in temperament was his Tom's opposite. Where his Tom was passion he was apathy. Where Tom's essence burn, burn, _burned_ Haydn's creeped and crawled, crushing mountains, carving valleys, an advancing glacier. Slow devastation. But his veneer was quite bubbly. He sometimes babbled at nothing, a sweet smile curving baby lip and opening to reveal milk teeth peeking through pink gums. Sometimes he waved his little arms as if saying a baby's greeting to someone who was not there. He was quite adorable if one over looked the way he stared. His beryl eyes held something dark, cold and timeless. And if one gazed into them for too long they would feel the same crushing emptiness felt gazing at the gaps between stars. 

They were never adopted. When families came looking and saw the boy with stone eyes and the other whose gaze held life and death they turned away because even with those lovely faces the boys were different. And different in a time and place like this was not to be coveted. It was to be feared. The matrons called them monster boys, freaks, and devil spawn. And as Tom and Haydn grew they grew close together and far from the others.  

The monster boys were victims as often as they took them. For every bruise they gave they received one, for every strange accident a ruler was taken to the palms of their hands. But by four and five they were mostly left alone and eventually moved out of the nursery to a room on the top floor of the old drafty building.  Being on the top floor their room was far away from the other orphanage occupants, the matrons included.  

Their first night there a group of older boys confronted them. Outside the nursery there was a hierarchy that the boys intended to enforce. The next day the nurse's room was full and Tom and Haydn were left alone again, for a while, on the top of the food chain. But kids are dumb and they like to push their luck so the boys just kept reminding them, and the nurses room was never empty. 

Moving out wasn't such a big change for the two. The matrons still averted their eyes from the boys, though their whispers persisted. The bullies came and went, often worse for wear. And it was in those formative years Tom and Haydn learned two things. The first of course, was never get caught. They snatched and snuck, stole and stashed. But Mrs. Cole's eyes were surprisingly keen, her ruler stiff as ever, and of course the bathrooms could always use a good cleaning. But the boys learned to be quick and quiet and to hide in her periphery or alcoholic stupor if the occasion presented its self 

The second lesson was to _neve_ _r_  lash out. It only lead to further punishment or gave some of the older kid the satisfaction of reaction. Lashing out meant losing control. It was far better to bide time and slip like poison through the halls of the orphanage if retribution was in order. 

 

When Tom had returned to his room one day after using the bathroom to find his brother's bruised and swollen face he had, in fury, smashed everything he could in the room before collapsing to the floor head bowed. Haydn had then stood and approached him through the mess. 

"Do you feel better" 

Tom looked up. His brother hadn't flinched when he spoke despite the inflammation around his mouth and jaw. 

"No of course not," was Toms reply. 

"You lost control," 

"I can't stop people from hurting you." 

"You know the rules Tom, but you.." 

Tom sighed and looked back to the mess he made. 

"They hurt you again... But that’s no excuse. I'm sorry. I'll take your chores for the week" 

It was Haydn's turn to sigh. 

"It won't happen again right. They like it when you react. You can't give them that not even in private. Not until we find a home for ourselves. Somewhere we can just be." 

Tom nodded and smiled. He often dreamed about that. About a home just for the two of them no ugly children or matrons to hurt and nag them.   

Tom snapped back to reality, just in time to see his brother's lips turn up at the corners. 

 "What?"

"Would you like to help me? Educate the masses of course. They never learn and it might help you blow of some steam." 

Tom watched as his brothers previously listless expression sharpened. It was true rage, not often seen on Haydn's face. Haydn was the one who always shied away from conflict. Not a pacifist, but usually If something bad happened to him Haydn let it go and it was Toms pleasure to take revenge. They must have said something about Tom to get Haydn this riled up. His brother was fiercely protective of him.  

He noticed now Haydn's fists were clenched trembling even, despite his brother's calm features. And in his eyes a sharp dangerous thing Tom had never seen before was revealed. It must have been bad. Worse than usual to get Haydn so emotional. Before he had really thought about it he had always assumed his brother's absent demeanor was escapism, and in a way, it was. It leads to his passivity, but now it was gone, and Haydn's cruel spirit was showing its self to them 

"What do you have in mind?"  

Haydn's smile was a knife. 

"There is bleach in the supply cupboard..."  

The next day the occupants of Wool's orphanage were startled the sounds of screaming. Apparently, three of the ten-year-old boys had been playing where they shouldn’t have and managed to lock themselves in the cleaning cupboard. As they tried to force the door open one of them knocked over the bottle of bleach, which hadn't been properly capped after its last use. Of course, the fumes of bleach are quite irritating to the skin, eyes, and lungs, not to mention it managed to soak through all three of the boys' sock. The burns were quite terrible. 

Pity. 

 

 

 


	2. Slippery magic

On Haydn's seventh birthday Tom stole some coins from Abigail's pocket. The girl was one of the oldest orphans and worked part time for a seamstress down the road. She was a pretty reliable source to pick pocket, as she wasn’t clever enough to notice her change going missing.  

That was usually how both boys did gift giving and this time Tom bought his brother a pair of gloves. The weather was getting chillier and Haydn had ruined his last pair climbing the old oak tree out in yard. The boy said he'd been looking for fairies or tree nymphs or whatever other creature his brother could see that Tom couldn't. Not in person at least.  

Sometimes though when they were feeling lonely, or the orphanage got too cold or too quiet they would share a cot for the night which more often than not lead to them sharing dreams. And Haydn's dreams were filled with such terribly wonderful things. Visions of pixies with pointed faces and gemstone eyes, their little wings iridescent like dragonflies, or small gnomes with squashy bodies and gravelly voices. Tom's favorite though were the fire sprites. The coal black of their skin would glimmer in the reflected light of their flaming hair, whose color was unique to each sprite and came in a rainbow, varied and vibrant like the flowers in the window boxes at church. 

Sometimes Tom was jealous Haydn could see such things and speak with the creatures Tom could only see in the other boy's dreams. They left him gifts and told him stories and taught him things that Tom might never know. But Haydn more often than not shared those stories and the Fair Folk often left gifts for him as well lessening the bitter ache in his chest.   

There was one story however Haydn would never tell, but Tom saw it sometimes in the edges of his brother's dreams. There would be a shadowed figure there, bone pale, holding a knobbly stick. And on its skeletal fingers would be a ring. Just an ugly black stone in a setting of bright gaudy gold nothing special, but the sight of that ring would fill Tom with a comfortable dread. And sometimes he would see memories that couldn't have been his own. _A_ _fist_ _with that_ _ring_ _raining down on_ _her_ _cheek, long dark hair catching in the setting_ _._  

 _"Worthless girl!"_  

 _"_ _I'm_ _sorry Father_ _! It_ _won'_ _happen again."_  

But the figures face was always obscured by a cloak made of shadow and if Tom looked too long at the empty space beneath the cowl of that hood Haydn's dream would shift and disappear, back to flower elves and wonder. 

 

Despite it being Haydn's birthday Halloween was not really celebrated at the orphanage but the children did receive some sweets at dinner and Haydn the day of chores. Tom always gave his candies to his brother. The younger boy had such a bottomless appetite for sweets it was quite adorable. Quite in contrast to Haydn being born on such a wicked day, it was often another source of whispers amongst the staff at Wool's. Haydn had only laughed though. 

"I am a Peverell brother. There isn't a day more fitting. Except perhaps May fifth." 

Tom smiled 

"You’ve been reading Dracula again?" 

"Of course. It most likely inaccurate, but it's still excellent." 

"You believe in vampires then?" 

Haydn grinned razor bright. 

"It can't all be fairies and flowers Tom. The world has a way of balancing joy with fear." 

Tom didn't reply, but he didn’t need to. His brother was right of course and Tom supposed Haydn knew a lot about such thing when he communed so often with fairies. And for a moment Tom desperately wished he could speak with them to, learn from them and be, for a moment out of the dreary gray world he was stuck in. And that desperate jealousy persisted, until he found out his own gift. 

Haydn was already putting his new gloves to use climbing the oak again and thanking Tom periodically for the thoughtful gift. Every time his brother said this Tom would just smile and tell him to take good care of this pair from where he was standing at the base of the trunk. He eventually grew bored of merely waiting for his brother but it wasn’t cold enough for him to want to return inside, so he plopped down on the grass and opened his book. _The Picture of Dorian Gra_ _y_ really spoke to him immortality and a life in pursuit of pleasure sounded _quite_ appealing. 

But an annoying voice kept interrupting his concentration. Tom glared around for the offending orphan, but his eyes landed on no one. Until he looked down.  

 ** _"_** ** _SSSSSoooo_** **_cccccoold_** ** _"_**  

The voice belonged to a tiny snake. It miniscule, only the length of his hand, and pencil thin. It seemed to be trying to burrow into his pocket to find warmth and after a few moments it managed to do so as he heard. 

 **_"WARM! GOOD._ ** **_SSSssssllleeeep_ ** **_"_ **  

Followed by what might have been snaky snores. 

 **_"Well then... make yourself at home."_ **  

 **_"I_ ** **_willlssss_ ** **_"_ **  

Apparently not quite asleep then. 

"You are Gaunt folk. Why didn’t you tell me?" 

Tom had been so caught in his observations of the little snake he hadn't heard Haydn drop from the tree. He was confused Tom wasn’t skinny, average weight for his age and above average height.  

"I'm not sure what you mean," was Toms puzzled reply. 

Haydn blinked. 

"I knew you were magic, like me but I assumed with the last name Riddle you were a mudblood. Why didn’t you tell me you spoke slippery?"  

"Brother, if I had any idea of what you were speaking I would have answered your question the first time. But as it stands I am rather confused. What is a Gaunt?" 

"The fairies call the snake speakers Gaunt folk because they speak slippery and can go months without food."  

"Slippery?" Tom asked, and Haydn shrugged 

"It’s the closest English work I can think of." 

Tom nodded. Haydn hadn't told him before that the fairies spoke another language, but it made sense. 

"And mudblood?" 

"Fairies call magic people that come from normal people, mudbloods. Because at the beginning when humans lived in caves the fairies lived in the forests and trees. Humans were in the mud so they were called mudbloods. I think pixies are treebloods, fairies, flower bloods, elves, woodbloods and so on. It's weird though. I think gnomes classify as glurg." 

That made Tom smile. It really suited the gnomes he saw in Haydn's dreams, funny little guys. 

"Normal people used to be called muddles, but one of the old great magicians got his tongue cut out in a fight and could only call muddles, muggles because he couldn't pronounce consonants anymore. I'm pretty sure they're all called muggles now and mudbloods are called muggleborn by magic humans." 

"So, there are other magic people like us?" Tom asked. He'd never really thought about other people being magic. Just Haydn who spoke to the fairies and him, who read minds and floated things. 

"Yeah apparently there's a whole bunch a separate world even. The magic world is a world kept in secret from Muggles but it exists right next to this one." 

Tom's eyes widened, a desperate hope sparking in his chest. There was a whole world filled with wonderful things like in Haydn's mind! He wanted to go right away, but knew it wasn't possible. The matrons wouldn’t let them out to wander the city until they were nine. How unfair!  

As they retuned inside, in response to the fading sunlight and deepening chill, Haydn kept talking about magic and fairies, Gaunts and Peverells. He told stories of foolish men who followed vicious will-o-wisps to watery graves and how the fairy queen was born from the first human's laugh. There was a whole wicked wonderful world of magic just beyond his fingertips. 

And he _wanted_ it. 

 

 


	3. Rosemary Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a pain in my butt to rewrite and I'm not very please with it...its whatever though. I like it enough to post it lol

Haydn left milk out for the fairies. He had a little tin filled with sage, thyme and mint leaves that he would place on his window sill every evening with along with a small cup of milk unwittingly donated by the cook. The fairies liked exchanging gifts. Tit for tat and this for that. And in return he received tales and blessings. His favorites were one of green light and a fire haired woman saving her son and one of flying carriage and of a cool October evening. He dreamed of those most often and would wake up sweating a rush and thrill curling his toes.

Tom liked those ones too when he saw them. He found the green light quite pretty and the woman reminded him of a fire sprite, fierce and bright. But Haydn noticed that Tom often got distracted when they dreamed together. He would always look for the skeleton man and the three brothers hiding in the shadows of Haydn's mind. And if he looked too long Toms dreams would take over, and Haydn didn't like Toms dreams. They always held mean men and ugly girl and lots of dead snakes. It was honestly no wonder why his brother was so crabby in the morning. 

Some thought Toms dreams held and older him... well not his Tom really because other Tom's eyes were blue not black and other Toms lip looked like they had seen more sneers than smiles. Other Tom was mean to Ugly girl too and his Tom wasn't one to judge based on appearances. Worth maybe, but not appearances.

They slept together more often as winter set in, their grey blankets not achieving the same effect the other's body could against the winter chill. Their dreams like always mixing and flowing together, but one night something was different. Perhaps it was because Tom had given the fairies strawberry shapes bead from mean Amy's bracelet, or maybe it was because Haydn added rosemary to his night time ritual. Either way something was different. Toms dreams took over.

_"It's hot today sir"_

_"What is your_ _business_ _with_ _me_ _pauper?"_

_"N-nothing sir! I just wondered if_ _you_ _might like a cup of water?"_

_There was a beat when Tom Riddle Sr._ _looked at the ugly slip of a girl that was Merope Gaunt. She was all alone and her_ _loathsome_ _father and brother had been arrested. She'd likely never get_ _married_ _, not with a face like that and she was all alone. What harm could a cup_ _of water_ _do_ _._

_"Fine, but make sure the cup is clean."_

_Merope smiled as he took a sip. A smile filled with obsession and desperate longing._

_"Thank_ _you!_ _Merope_ _wasn’t it? I_ _t was wonderfully kind of you to bring that for me._ _My is_ _Tom_ _Riddle by the way._ _A lovely lady like_ _yourself may_ _just c_ _all me Tom_ _though._ _"_

The dream continued, telling the tragic and troubling tale of Merope Gaunt. They witnessed a marriage, a horror, a pregnancy, a flight, a survival and a birth. A death to of course, a traditional end to such a tale. Tom was crying when they woke in the morning. Fat tears that Haydn hadn't seen in a long-time sliding down Toms angel face, dampening his fire.

"They were my parents then?"

Haydn remained silent

"No wonder my father didn't want me, if I would only serve to remind him o-of th-that...I'm a monster."

Haydn's eyes flashed.

"Of course, you are. So am I. Don't ever be ashamed of that Tom. You'll lose yourself that way."

"B-but I-She..."

He sighed and scrubbed his face. His parents were both terrible people. He was to if he was honest with himself. But Haydn didn't care, and he had long ago determined that was all that really mattered. As long as Haydn was there.

"So you really don’t care then that my m-mother rap-ped my father?" Tom asked.

"Of course, not. You know you are the only person I really care about. If anything, I am grateful. The world would be a much grayer place without you in it Tom."

Tom's nose scrunched a little at his name, the constant reminder of his callous father, but there was a smile at the corners of his lips even so. Haydn had just said he hadn't care seeing a man getting raped. His brother was obviously quite terrible as well.

"I shan't put rosemary in the fairies' milk anymore if that’s alright with you. I mightn't of cared what I saw in your dreams, but mine are still far better."

To that point they both agreed. The memories still affected Tom, made him guiltier and quicker to anger. Haydn knew he needed an outlet, one that wouldn’t get them in trouble with the law. Tom's birthday was approaching so Harry decided to get Tom a journal. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a small leather-bound book which he stole from the gardener and had the fairies spell Tom's name onto. Tom loved it though. He was always writing in it when he could, or while he was speaking with his little snake companion.

The sight was almost sweet to see Tom with the tiny snake wrapped around his thumb writing in whatever patch of sunlight he was resting in soft hisses coming from him and his companion periodically. Quite sweet indeed.

Tom wrote everything in his new journal, all the stories Haydn told him, all his school work and revenge plots, coded of course. Sometimes he doodles, there were little fairies in the corners of the note pages and gnomes in the margins. 

He wrote so often that the other children began to take notice. It wasn’t necessarily the notebook they wanted, many of them couldn't really write yet. It was the quality. A nice leather-bound notebook personalized with a name. It was something none of them had and it must have been expensive. Too nice for the freak to own. The matrons had noticed to of course, but they had long ago stopped trying to discipline the monster boys. Still they whispered. And the children whispered. But they did nothing.

Nothing until Denis Bishop and Amy Benson decided it would be a good idea to burn Tom's little diary.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
